


Blessing of Agni

by elfofdeath, I_Deal_In_Nightmare_Fuel



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:40:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26177347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elfofdeath/pseuds/elfofdeath, https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Deal_In_Nightmare_Fuel/pseuds/I_Deal_In_Nightmare_Fuel
Summary: They say Agni blessed their union.They say they will be a happy couple.They say they will bring peace and prosperity to the Fire Nation.You should not trust what they say.(How do you break free of the puppeteer's strings?)
Relationships: Ozai/Ursa (Avatar)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yes this is reuploaded  
> I_Deal_In_Nightmare_Fuel is helping me out with the fic now :)

"Ursa…now that is a unique name. What does it mean?" The Fire Lord’s voice was gravelly and old, a testament to his long reign.

The young lady swallowed. “It is supposed to mean ‘mighty bear’, my lord. But I am no bear.”

It had been a strange night after an even stranger day. Here she was, making small talk with the Fire Lord himself, his youngest son between them, sitting as straight and as poised as she was. She felt his hand in hers underneath the table. Even though they had been engaged just hours before, within minutes of meeting, it was oddly comforting to know that someone was at least superficially on her side.

“I am not mighty, my lord,” she continued humbly, trying to placate the terrifying figure in front of her. “I do not have the power of those like you, who have been favored by Agni. I cannot fight. I am only a woman.”

The blades in her sleeves pressed their metal into her skin, reminding her of her lie.

Fire Lord Azulon knew well that Ursa had no bending. As disappointing as that was, given her ancestry, it mattered little. Ozai had agreed to marriage, and Azulon needed to fuse his bloodline with that of the Avatar. Ozai’s own prowess would more than make up for Ursa’s lack.

Ozai knew full well his part to play, and his lack of choice in the matter.

It was time to put on a show. “Agni’s gifts to you do not lay in fire, my dear. No woman I have seen could hope to match your beauty and grace.” Honeyed words from a silver tongue as he lifted Ursa’s hand from beneath the table to kiss it, ever so gently, and seal his words. A look to Ursa, one of sympathy, and a look to Azulon, one of seeming camaraderie and veiled hatred.

Azulon saw only what he wanted to. Ozai would make sure it stayed that way.

* * *

Ursa found herself thrust into the world of the palace, with its strange new rules, and she struggled to adapt at the pace expected of her. A thousand whispers surrounded her. Ozai’s enigmatic comments did nothing to assuage her fears. She made many mistakes.

Late at night, she stole into the kitchens and sent away the staff. She was about to make another mistake. She didn’t care much.

She rummaged through the cupboards until she had everything. Miso soup was one of her favorites, though the version she would make was much simpler. She didn’t want to take a lot of time. Her betrothed, the Prince (the Prince!), expected her back soon.

It took only a few minutes. She ladled two servings into two bowls and set her course for their suite.

* * *

Ozai raised an eyebrow at the food in her hand. “You are soon to become a Princess. You ought not to lower yourself to common labor like this. That is the work of the kitchen staff.”

His reaction was both unexpected and completely expected. She’d been taught in her village, by her mother and the tutors that marched in and out of her house, trying to mold her into a lady, that the woman cooked for the man. That hadn’t been why she’d commandeered the kitchens, not really, but it was her prepared excuse.

She didn’t have to use it. Ozai waved her to the table and took the second bowl.

“But you did make this for us. Kneel. We shall enjoy it together.”

“I apologize, my Prince,” she said, with thinly veiled scorn for this strange, impossible place. “Where I am from, the woman must serve the man.” She ended up using it anyways.

“Where you are from must be terribly backwards. How a woman like you survived I wouldn’t know.”

Was…was he complimenting her? She didn’t know how to respond to that.

“But you are not there anymore. You are soon to become a princess, and you must act like it. Let the servants wait on you. Let them take care of the mundane tasks while you attend to the business of being one of us.”

Her mask slips and she snaps, “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“As am I.” His tone intended to soothe. “But we of the Royal Family are considered divine and we must play along if we intend to keep our power. You must present the right image.”

His words did not do as he intended. Ursa knew her stewing anger was showing, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. Not when she was alone with the only potential ally she had.

“Ursa.” He laid too-gentle fingers on the back of her hand, trying to make a bad thing sound good. “You must understand. Power is far more precarious than you think, and most of it is based off of image. To use it, we have to make sure we project the right one. Trust me—if we do not, those who my father wants us to socialize with, to butter up, will eat us alive.”

Us and we, not you. A subtle, but not unnoticed, show of solidarity.

“To Azulon,” he finished, tone falling from honey-sweet to bitter and deep, “we are nothing more than puppets.”

She retreated into herself at that dark proclamation and Ozai realized he’d messed up. “But we are not. All power in this place comes from illusions, and in order to exert our own power we must keep up the illusion of powerlessness. It is a survival tactic, not a debasement. I and some associates can help teach you.”

“I hate it,” she hissed, even as Ozai leaned forward to kiss her cheek.

“I know. This soup is delicious,” he said, changing the subject. “You are a good cook, even if it is not proper of you. I will find a way to repay you.”

“Thank you.” Suddenly she remembers her position, precarious and terrifying to think about. “My lord.”

“I am Ozai to you.” His look was somehow both soft and severe. “We are, after all, engaged.”

Her submission softened into embarrassment and a warm blush, and he found himself amused. She really was rather beautiful.

They said their goodnights and laid down in their separate beds in separate rooms. Ozai still found himself a little melted, almost, over the picture Ursa had been at their late dinner. A softness, a little bit of trust, right after a deliberate rebellion.

Perhaps marriage would be tolerable after all.


	2. Ozai's word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ozai keep his word to take Ursa into the Captial for shopping

Ozai, despite his legendary temper, turned out to be a man of his word, but Azulon interfered even with that.

He’d decided to take Ursa into town and let her buy whatever she wanted as his repayment. A cheap move, yes, but wise, considering that they’d only known each other for a few weeks. Hoping to keep it under wraps, he’d told the servants only to get certain things without letting them know where they were going, spreading out his requests over different servants (or who he thought were different servants. It was hard to tell when they were all dressed the same and never showed their faces fully.), but he’d underestimated their gossip network. Azulon had caught wind of his requests, put two and two together, and told him not to bother with the disguises.

Ozai really needed to start weeding out the spies.

Ursa, too, had noticed something was off. At first her betrothed had talked about this trip like it would be done in secret, but then one day he had come back to their suite, head hanging, eyes dejected, and informed her that they would be accompanied by a full company of servants and guards. Had someone found out? Had he kept it a secret? He wouldn’t tell her.

She could guess what had happened, though. She wasn’t stupid.

Even with the Fire Lord controlling their public appearances, though, they’d managed to strike up a deal: to learn more about each other, to understand each other just a little more before they were married. They spent evenings together before retiring to their separate quarters. They talked of everything and nothing, trying to comprehend the other from their intricate dance of words and tone. Slowly they’d circled closer, drawn in by each other’s gravity. Slowly they’d uncovered little secrets to each other.

The results of that slow pull showed themselves as their fingers intertwined. Royal guards and servants followed behind them as they walked through the streets; Ozai had managed, at least, to convince Azulon not to require the palanquin. It was good to walk in the open air, seeing the sights unhindered by any veil, but it meant that everyone else could see them as well, walking with their feet on the ground just like the horrid commoners. It was surely an odd sight.

Ozai had told her he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been allowed to go outside with no palanquin. That didn’t bode well for her.

She distracted herself from that worry by focusing on the shops around her. Even in such close proximity to the palace, she could see their colors, their business, the life that breathed through them. The horrid commoners were no more horrible than any courtier, and she found herself watching the crowds even as they scattered and bowed before her and Ozai. She didn’t buy anything, not just yet, preferring to look as they walked, hand in hand, through the streets.

It was good.

\-----------------------------------------------

Ozai watched his betrothed as she drank in the sights of the capital’s shopping district, expecting her to run out and grab any little thing that caught her eye and somehow both disappointed and intrigued when she didn’t. She seemed content to watch the crowds come and go, drink in the sights of the Capitol, and walk with him, hand in hand. He found he was content too, and sent away all but one of the servants sent with them. The guards he told to disperse into the crowd and leave them to be somewhat normal for a little bit.

At that, the crowds began to slack in their hurried bows and careful avoidance, and slowly the street around them began to fill again. Still Ursa seemed perfectly happy walking hand in hand with him, and Ozai feasted off of that peace, finding a strange pleasure in blending in with the commoners, even if those who noticed began to gossip.

His trance was broken by a tugging on his arm. Ursa was pulling him towards a bookshop, of all places, a quaint little thing tucked between two taller buildings. The inside was a little dusty, a little dry, and smelled nicely of old paper and ink. But Ursa wasn’t here to enjoy the atmosphere; she marched to the bookshelves, looking over the scrolls with a critical eye, until, with a little gasp of joy, her arm shot out and tucked one to her chest.

“What’s that, love?” He never called her love in private, but it would be best to keep up appearances even now.

“I found it! I’ve been looking for it for a while. Tales of Earth and Fire, third edition.”

Ozai blinked. That was an old book, a collection of fairy tales and superstitions from across the Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom from before the war. “Why?” He lowered his voice. “I never took you as one interested in mere stories.”

“I am,” she says, with an eyebrow raised and in the same low tone, “an actress, Ozai.”

Right.

“Very well, then,” he says. “Is that all you want?”

“What do you mean?”

“The Royal Family is no stranger to wealth. You could have gold, jewelry, perfume, silken clothes, anything you desire.” He leaned closer to her so the old bookseller would not hear. “Knives, perhaps? Poison?”

She shook her head even at that. “This is all.”

Confused but resigned, he nodded to the servant at the front of the shop, who came and took the scroll from her hands and bought it for her. They walked out of the shop hand in hand, just like they’d walked in, making a show for the bookseller and the curious. She seemed to like things like those: simple things, useful things, forgoing the luxury and ostentation expected of the Royal Family. It may be good for her, but it was not good for their image: they were expected to want, even demand, all of the very best, and only the very best. They were gods on earth. They needed to act like it.

She pointed to a poster as they walked, and Ozai swiveled his head to follow her gaze. It advertised a showing of Love Amongst the Dragons by the Ember Island Players. Hadn’t she mentioned acting with them before? “Do you think we could go see them?” Her eyes widened in innocent excitement, and Ozai found himself watching her with that same fond confusion as before. “If our schedules permit, I mean.”

Ozai walked over to the poster to inspect it. He knew the Players performed during tourist season, but he’d never had an interest in plays himself. Even as a child they’d seemed boring. Their fights weren’t real, and he hadn’t wanted to watch a bunch of people pretending to be other people just so that they could act out drama. (It hit too close to home, now.)

But he saw her hopeful look, and something melted inside him, just a little. “If we’re married by the start of the play season, I’ll take you to see them.”

“Your father wants us to be married quickly, yes?” Ozai knew what she was doing: testing the waters, making sure his promise would come to fruition. Already she’d gained a political mind.

But just thinking about the coming marriage irritated him. “Yes, but he’s waiting on a response from my brother. He has a day in mind.” Ozai snorted. “I don’t care if Iroh makes it though.”

Ursa tensed beside him, seeking to defend herself against the mounting anger in his eyes, and Ozai sighed, letting his shoulders down to seem less threatening. “Ursa,” he whispered, turning to her fully and gently touching her cheek. She leaned into it.

He’d be lying if he said that his hatred of his brother didn’t tend to overwhelm him at times, and it was not helped by the way his father constantly reminded him that Ursa would have been married off to Iroh if he’d been available. Ursa knew that as well—Azulon was not shy about saying it in her presence, even.

" Ozai…" she whispered.

He brushed a hand through her hair, then let his hand drop. It wouldn’t be proper to comfort her the way he wanted to, not here, not with people watching. “Let’s go back to the Palace,” he said instead, guiding her through the crowd, leaving the guards seeded throughout the people to try and catch up in time.

Still, she looked sad and scared and alone, and so he tried to reassure her, voice low to avoid the eavesdroppers. “I’m not angry at you, love. It’s my damn brother and my abominable father. You know what they say about you and I.”

Her hand intertwined with his. “I can assure you, Ozai, I will show both your brother and your father that I love you and you alone, and that you and I are meant to be. I hope you will reciprocate.”

He smiled, warm and fond, and it wasn’t all fake. “Of course.” His hand stayed intertwined with hers, both for show, for the plan, and from a wish. He wanted to forget the strings attached to him by his station and run away with this fantastic woman. He wanted to spit in Azulon’s face and defy his every will.

The people began to whisper as they saw Ursa and Ozai walking together, hands intertwined, chatting with each other as lightly as old friends, distracting him from his thoughts. They whispered and cooed over the royal couple. Perhaps he could play it up for a bit. Once they reached the gates (and had attracted a sizeable following) he wrapped her arms around her, and, once she’d relaxed into his embrace, kissed her gently on the forehead. Part of it was showing off to the crowd, hoping it would get to Azulon, and part of it…if he was being honest, most of it was the beautiful, cunning, incredible woman in front of him.

But even as his eyes were swept away by her glory, his mind began to turn over the future. Azulon would be hosting a gala soon, one which they were required to attend, one which would remind them of the strings that came with their power. This little excursion had been a delight, but it had also been an anomaly; rarely would they have the opportunity to simply walk through the streets and enjoy themselves. Soon they would have to get to work, pretending to be the automatons expected of them.

He turned to the gates with Ursa and prepared to reenter the world of politics.


End file.
